


You Can Save Lives, But You Can't Save Mine

by Limitless_Mind



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Multi, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, based off of the laurens interlude which also makes me cry, ghost au, oh god this is really sad, oh jeez everyone's dead god, this actually made me cry, well its a ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limitless_Mind/pseuds/Limitless_Mind
Summary: A ghost AU one-shot in which a spectral Laurens wakes up in the Hamilton's attic. Hamilton's son Philip appears to be the only human alive who can see him.I GIVE UP THERE'S NO PLOT IT'S JUST ANGST AND FLUFF.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super new to Ao3 and I already love it. I loved reading the fan fictions, and now I love being able to share what I write with people. 
> 
> This website is just amazing.
> 
> I love you guys. Thank you.
> 
> NOW ENOUGH SENTIMENT CRAP LET'S MAKE EVERYONE CRY.

 

Laurens shrieked and sat up. _WHAT THE HELL?_ He was sitting in a dusty attic, surrounded by manuscripts.

“Wh-” he started checking himself all over, like the Sergeant has taught them to do. He had taught John, Mulligan, Lafayette, and . . . someone else. Laurens couldn’t quite put a finger on his name, but he remembered a genius. A genius with beautiful and intelligent black eyes. A genius that Laurens had loved so so dearly. Lost in thought, he almost missed the bullet hole. _THERE WAS A BULLET HOLE IN HIS CHEST._

Everything flooded back at once. Meeting at the Combahee River, seeing the British forces, the sudden pain, the shouts from his men as he fell of of his horse. Hearing the messenger as he slowly walked down the tunnel tell Mordecai Gist that the British had already surrendered and that Laurens had died for nothing.

“I’m . . . I’m dea-” There was no way. There was absolutely no way that he was dead. But when he tried to pick up a paper, it floated through his fingers. A BULLET HOLE. He was dead. “I’m dead. I’m dead! So how is this possible?” He started to cry. “Will I just be stuck here, some kind of specter, never seeing Lafayette or Mulligan or WHATEVER HIS NAME WAS THAT I LOVED SO MUCH?!” He started to scream, desperate for anyone, anything to hear him and come help him. “SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYONE, EVEN CHARLES LEE, THE GODDAMN FOOL, PLEASE HELP ME!” He beat on the wall, the floor, but his fingers passed through. “No. No. This can’t be possible! This isn’t possible!” The door to the attic cracked open.

“Yes, I’ll get the sheet music, mother! I’ll be right back!” a young voice called. A boy, about nine, hopped through cheerfully and froze at the sight of a ghost having an emotional breakdown. “Wh-who are you?” John Laurens froze.

“Can you see me?”

“Is that actually a question you’re asking me?” The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the bullet hole. “Mister, I don’t know who you are or how you got into our attic, but you’re hurt, and we need to get you to a hospital, yes sir, right away!” He tried to grab John’s arm but his fingers passed through.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for a hospital, son.” Laurens smiled resignedly.

“You’re a ghost?” The boy’s eyes widened. “COOL!”  _He's not phased by this???_

“Try being dead,” John quipped, trying to cheer himself up. His heart still hurt. “What is your name?”

“Philip.” The boy puffed his chest out. “Philip Hamilton.” _Hamilton._ He knew that name. Who had he connected with that name?

“Master Hamilton,” John said, “My name is John Laurens.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Laurens.”

“C-call me John. If I may inquire, Master Hamilton, what is your father’s name?”

“My father’s name? Oh, my pop is Alexander Hamilton. He’s the Secretary of State!” _Alexander_ . The name sent a shockwave through him. _His name is Alexander Hamilton._ He remembered Alexander standing on a table in a pub, incredibly drunk, shouting out rhyming couplets about freedom. _Freedom. What happened to my men after I died? Surely they were set free for their service to their country._

“How is your . . . pop?” The word hurt him. _Alexander is married and he has a child. He loves his wife. He has a_ **_wife_ ** _, John, leave him alone._

“Oh, a friend of his died a bit ago. Mother and I still haven’t told him or Angie because he has a lot of work and Angie gets sad.” _Me. I died._ “Say, mister, since you’re dead and all, you wouldn’t mind haunting my house? I’ve always wanted to have a ghost in my house.”

“N-n-not at all, Master Hamilton.”

"Just call me Philip!” Alex’s son beamed. He grabbed a sheaf of papers and threw open the door, skipping down the stairs three at a time. “Come on! I’ll introduce you to Mother! Mother, I got the music! Also,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Our attic is haunted.”

“Oh! Is that right?” Eliza smiled at her son with the smile that adults give children when their story is too ridiculous to believe and too cute to debunk.

“Yes! I just met him. His name is John Laurens.” Eliza froze like a deer when it hears the crack of a hunting rifle.

“Philip, where did you hear that name?”

“From John! Mother, I just told you that I met him! He’s right over there!” Philip sounded exasperated. “Fine, if you don’t believe me and you can’t see him, then we’ll have to prove it.” _I don’t want to show myself to Hamilton’s wife, of all people._ John floated up to the attic. “John? Heeeyyy, John, where did you go?” Philip tried to follow him, but his mother yanked him down to practice piano.

 

One of the benefits or curses of being dead was that you couldn’t die. John wanted to die. But he was already dead, and literally had the wounds to prove it. So he just sat up in his attic and cried long and hard. _I’m dead. I’m dead. My men have no one to lead them, and the only one I have to lead me is a nine-year old boy that is the certificate of Eliza and Alexander’s love._ He was in the lowest place of his life, or afterlife, or whatever you called this limbo that he was in. _Never age, never sleep, never eat, never breathe. Watch Eliza and Alexander grow old together for the rest of their life, being the third wheel that no one could see. Alexander was the closest friend that I had, and now no one will know that I loved him. I LOVED HIM, I LOVED HIM, AND NOW HE WILL BE FOREVER OUT OF MY REACH!_

 

John flew downstairs when he heard the door open, deciding that he was going to stop his pity party and get on with life - or death - or afterlife. A man’s laugh, hearty and loud, resonated through the house and John stopped. He knew that laugh better than anyone. A young girl’s voice, about six or seven, John guessed, cried out, “Papa!”

John peered around the doorframe and saw him. Alexander. His beatless heart dropped into his shoes. The little girl that cried out looked over at Philip, who walked right through John. Philip shuddered briefly, glared at John, and then ran towards his father, hugging his leg while Alexander laughed and picked his son up, swinging him around in the air.

“Alexander, you’re home.” Eliza walked through John to go and embrace her husband. Rage started to roil through John. _How dare she._ He felt the temperature drop a few degrees and the dishes clanked once and then went silent. Alexander frowned and looked around.

“Why is it so cold here all of a sudden?”

“ALEXANDER!” John screamed. Philip flinched. “Alex, it’s me, can’t you see me? It’s Laurens!” Philip looked confused. So did Hamilton.

“Wait, John, you knew Pops?” John froze. _Alexander can’t see me._

“Who are you talking to?” Hamilton looked down, smiling. “Another imaginary friend?”

“No. The ghost that agreed to haunt this house. We had a conversation earlier when I went to go get Mother’s sheet music.” Alexander laughed and ruffled his hair. “His name is John. John Laurens.” At this, Hamilton stopped, startled.

“Philip, have you been reading my letters?”

“No! Well, yes,” Philip admitted. Both Alexander and John turned red. _Oh my god. Alexander, what have you done?_ “I was meaning to ask you, pops! What’s ‘the final consummation?’” Now Eliza, John, and Alexander were all the colour of beets.

“Y-y-y-young man, it is v-v-very rude to read other’s correspondences,"Alexander stuttered.

“Alexander, I need to talk to you. Alone. It’s about John.” Eliza handed Alexander a letter, shooed the children out of the room, read it to him when he couldn’t, left him alone when he cried.

 

***

 

John had seen it all. He had followed Alexander through his entire life, watched helpless as Alex destroyed his career, his reputation, his love life. He could do nothing; couldn’t help, couldn’t comfort his lover and his friend. The most he could do was take Alexander’s pens from him, hide them so he got some sleep, bring him food and drink that Alexander thanked his wife for.

Watch the only boy who could see him die, dueling for his father's honor.

Watch Alexander become a shadow, a wraith over his son’s death.

Watch as Burr became dangerous. Ran for president.

Watch as Alexander finally crosses the line in Burr’s eyes - he sent a letter to Congress, asking them to vote for Jefferson.

Watch as Burr tells Alexander to get his pistols and meet him where Philip died. Dueling. Dueling.

Watch, watch, watch.

Watch that asshole Burr shoot Alex. His Alex. Shoot him in the heart. The heart that John knew would belong to him if Alex could just _see_ him, goddamn it.

 

John stayed with Alexander as he died, peppering his face with kisses that Alex couldn’t feel, trying to keep his love alive for a little more time, despite how much he wanted to see him. Listened to him talk, talk, talk his life away.

John saw Alexander sit up out of his body, saw the recognition in his eyes when he looked at John.

“My Alexander. It’s been so long.”

“Have you -”

“I’ve been watching you since I died. Only Philip could see me. I’m so sorry for your loss.” But Alexander was laughing, crying, pulling John into an embrace, calling him _my dearest, dearest John, my dearest Laurens, I love you, I love you, I will never let you go, never never never_.

And John started to cry. He cried and cried and cried. _Alexander, you have no idea how long I waited, how long I’ve wanted you to see me, to hear me, to want me._ And Alexander was apologizing, rocking John back and forth, and they were both crying in the broad daylight where no one could see them.

Philip watched. He smiled. He had passed on, and now his friend and father would do the same, pass on to a life without judgement, where they could love each other and no one would care.

And the two did. Their bodies faded in the sunlight, slowly and peacefully, and Philip heard his father cry his name in joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Please. Kudos. I feed off of kudos.


End file.
